Marissa was slower to climb out of the coach. She was stiff and sore from the long journey and the uncomfortable position she’d been in. Lady Bethany was moaning as she tottered about the yard, and Jasper was declaring he was ready for a roaring fire and a nice hot breakfast.
“Mrs. Beaumaris will accommodate us, I am sure,” he said, with a greedy gleam in his eyes. “I wonder if she has some of that delicious bacon I had last time?”
“Jasper, really, is your stomach all you think about?” Lady Bethany declared wearily. “Here I am, almost crippled, and you’re worrying about your bacon.”
“Now, my dear, that’s not true.”
Marissa was only half listening to their gentle bickering, her thoughts otherwise occupied with the baron and Valentine. It was chance that made her glance up at the gatehouse. It stood silhouetted against the dawn sky, a dark mass of stone with narrow windows like eyes. There was a figure standing on the square tower at the very top. Surprised, she raised a hand to shade her eyes against the glare of the rising sun, and realized that whoever it was had pale hair.
“Augustus,” she breathed.
Lady Bethany jumped. “Where?”
“Up there!” Marissa cried, and ran toward the steps that led up into the gatehouse tower.
She didn’t stop to think that what she was doing might be dangerous. The baron was here and she would face him and demand to know what he thought he was doing at Abbey Thorne Manor. She had bested him once and she would do so again. How dare he come and try to ruin her wedding and all her happiness? How dare he threaten Valentine?
Her shoes tapped on the stone steps, echoing the quickening beat of her heart, while her skirt and cloak brushed against the sides of the narrow stairwell. It was gloomy and dank, smelling of age, but she kept climbing toward the square of light at the top. When she finally reached it, stepping out onto the narrow stone balcony, she was out of breath. She clung to the stone balustrade with one hand, a brisk breeze tugging at her clothing and hair, as she gazed around for Augustus.
“Miss Rotherhild.”
He was behind her, and she spun around, nearly falling backward down the stairs in her haste to confront him. Augustus was not a man she wanted to have at her back. She was remembering Lady Longhurst and the look on her face when she told them what Augustus had done to her. Shivering, she drew her cloak closer around her, as if it might protect her. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to come rushing up here alone.
As if he was perfectly aware of her state of mind, the baron smiled.
“I knew you’d come,” he said, his pale gaze fastened unnervingly on her face. “As soon as I saw you I knew it was meant to be.”
Meant to be? Before she could ask what he meant, he went on, his face blazing with purpose in a way that was beginning to terrify her.
“This is all mine, you know. I am the eldest son. I will marry you and we will live at Abbey Thorne Manor. There will be children, of course. I will need an heir.”
Marissa tried to make her voice sound calm and reasonable, when all she wanted to do was scream. “I think Valentine might have something to say about that. I am engaged to him, not you.”
He smiled at her as if she was flirting with him. “Valentine understands. He owes me so much. He can never repay all his father’s debts but he will try. I know he will. We are brothers, after all.”
Marissa knew then it was useless to argue with him. The fantasy in his mind had grown to even more bizarre proportions and whatever she said he wouldn’t be capable of believing her.
“Will you come down and talk to Valentine? You can discuss the—the running of the estate. You will have a great deal to learn.”
He frowned. Practical matters had no place in his dreams of the future. “He has a manager, does he not? There will be no need for me to rub shoulders with the workers.”
“You will need to give instructions. I think you’d better speak to Valentine.” She was edging toward the stairs, drawing him with her. If she could get him down to the ground then there was a chance he could be recaptured, or at least Marissa would be able to escape.
Augustus shook his head. “Stay where you are, Miss Rotherhild. There is no need to talk to Valentine. He understands everything. He told me himself that he was giving you to me.”
Goose bumps rose on her skin, and suddenly she felt icy cold. Augustus was so convincing she almost believed him, but in her heart she knew Valentine would never do such a thing.
“I am not about to be given to anyone,” she said firmly. “I make up my own mind who I want to marry, not Valentine, and not you.”
The baron looked amused, as if a piece of furniture had suddenly begun to air its opinions.
Marissa turned and took a step downward.
The next moment he had hold of her by the shoulders, pulling her backward, his fingers bruising her flesh. She struggled, kicking back at his shins, although her skirts impeded her efforts to escape.
“Let me go!” She struck back with her elbow, catching him in the stomach and he howled in pain. Marissa had forgotten his wound, but now it had the required effect, and he let her go.
Panting, her hair tangled about her face and shoulders, she stumbled away from him. Although bent over, his hand to his aching stomach, Augustus was watching her. His face was white, his mouth a rictus smile. He was standing between Marissa and the stairs. There was no other way off the tower, unless it was to jump.